by Tiana Laveen
The older man reached over with a trembling hand and took another sip of tea. When he faced them again, tears were streaming down his face. The sight broke Lazarist’s heart. Dad wasn’t a big crier; in fact, he wouldn’t describe his father as emotional at all, even before the illness had taken him down.
“Dad, it’s not your fault, okay? You didn’t ask for this to happen to you, but it has,” Eliza stated as she reached over and took Dad’s hand. “However, using the resources available to ya is your responsibility.”
“Eliza is right. You’re in a great position right now. You have a family that loves you… not everyone can say that in these cases. All Eliza and I want is for you to be healthy and happy, in spite of your diagnosis and struggles.”
“Do ya think I could, uh, get your mom back if I stuck to the program and kept on takin’ my medication?”
“Dad,” Lazarist began, trying to choose the right words, though he was so sick and fucking tired of the man wrapping his world around his mother, the same woman he’d practically destroyed. “Mom has moved on, okay? And even if she hadn’t, even if you could somehow rekindle things with her, that’s not how this works. You need to do this for you.” He pointed at the man.
“You could have a happy life if you keep yourself healthy. Think of yourself as like, hell, I don’t know…” Lazarist tossed up his hands. “A diabetic, I guess you could say. As long as you take your insulin, eat healthy and exercise, your life will not be drastically affected by the disease and you have your entire future ahead of you. But if you don’t do what you’re supposed to do, things could go downhill fast. At this point, it’s life or death.”
“Do either of you have a cigarette?” Dad asked as he flopped back in his seat, a look of irritation in his tone. His complexion had deepened, and his hand shook ever so slightly, but at least he wasn’t hollering or cursing. That was a relief.
“I haven’t smoked in years, Dad, and Eliza never did.” The older man nodded in understanding. “So, I think—”
“Alright, Lazarist,” the old man said, cutting him off. “So, I take it, it’s safe to assume, based on what you’re both sayin’ to me, that you want me committed, right? You want me to sign something?” Dad looked over at the packet.
“Well, yes. We want you to allow for—”
“I know where this is going, all right? I don’t need to hear the lecture.” The man’s voice was slightly elevated. “You want me to have a babysitter basically, someone to make sure I don’t go all looney tunes!” The man jetted out his tongue, crossed his eyes, and made a silly face like some deranged clown as he waved his hands about. “And if I get outta control, you want my permission ahead of time to toss my ass in a crazy bin so they can make me do what I’m supposed to. I get it. No need to try to muscle me around or play hardball. Fine. I’ll do it.”
Lazarist couldn’t believe his ears. Though his father was obviously agitated, he was agreeing to such a thing. He had been prepared this time for reinforcement, but it appeared that was no longer needed.
“I want Eliza to be my power of attorney. Is that fine with you, ’Liza?”
“Uh.” She shrugged. “Yeah… that’s fine, Dad.”
That was a surprise to them both, too. Lazarist had been the one doing most of the care due to Dad alienating himself from others and denying her paternity. How strange. Regardless, that news gave him a sense of relief.
Dad snatched the packet out of Lazarist’s hands and ripped it open, dumping the papers all over the table beside him like he was handling a big bag of potato chips. A few minutes later, the guy had his reading glasses on and had scanned several of the documents. “I know that I’ve fucked up my life.” He stared at the last page where his signature was required. “I know that I’ve fucked up your and Eliza’s life, too. Ya don’t have to tell me.”
“You didn’t fuck up our lives. You made them harder, much harder, but I never gave you that type of control over me. You don’t have that sort of power.”
Dad smirked at him, then looked back at the papers.
“Pompous son of uh bitch… always got somethin’ smart to say,” the old man mumbled, but Lazarist refused to allow the bastard to rile him up one last time for old time’s sake. He simply chose to not respond to the curt response. “So, you’re gettin’ married, huh?” The guy snapped his fingers. “Somebody give me a fuckin’ pen, please.”
Eliza scrambled about in her purse, pulled one out, and handed it to him.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Two months from now. We’ve been planning it for a little while.”
“What number marriage is this, Laz?” Dad scribbled his name on the bottom and dated it.
“Three.”
“Three, huh? Three blind mice… three wise men… three, three, three…” The guy giggled, then flipped back to the first page and began to study the agreement packet all over again. “is she White?”
“Nope.” Lazarist crossed his arms over his chest.
Here we go with this shit again. I was hoping the medicine would nip it in the bud.
“Didn’t think so… Keep up with what you like, though; nothing wrong with that. You’ve always been consistent.” Dad chuckled. “Nothin’ wrong with that,” he repeated. “I knew what was going on when your mother and I had that one Black girl watch you and ’Liza for a few months when I’d have to go to those business dinners a long time ago. We needed someone to watch you kids. Her name was Taylor, I believe.”
Lazarist had forgotten all about Taylor. He couldn’t help but smile. That girl must’ve been his very first crush…
“Taylor’s mom was friends with Evelyn. The girl wanted to make a few extra bucks for college or somethin’ like that… her books, I think.” The old man shrugged as he flipped to another page, looking it over now with a discerning eye even though he’d already signed it. “You followed the girl wherever she went… did whatever she said. All googly-eyed. It was hilarious. Your mother would tease you and Eliza liked her, too… said she played fun games.”
Eliza laughed lightly. “Yeah, he’s right!”
“I knew then that that was what you liked. Everyone has their preferences, I suppose. Gotta watch little boys, though.” He waved his finger in their direction but kept his eye on the paperwork. “Little boys will tell you all about their future, if you pay close enough attention. See, Lazarist, you were pretty easy to read. You were a little hyper, a hothead, sensitive, and a know-it-all, too. But sometimes you could be really sweet.” The old man smiled. “You always shared your toys with your little sister and you had a lot of friends. Everybody liked ya. You insisted on having two piggy banks in your room. One was to spend up and buy all those little cars you used to like to collect… ya had hundreds of ’em!”
“Hot Wheels.”
“Yeah! Hot Wheels. The other piggy bank was for savings. I told you how important it was to save for a rainy day and how to make your money grow.”
“You did. I will always remember that, and I’m grateful.”
“And then you wanted your own bank account so at age six, that’s what your mother and I did. We did the same for Eliza. You’d save up money for two or three months, and then we’d take it all down to the bank for you to deposit. You always found some hustle, too…”
He flipped another page. “Like sellin’ some of the Hot Wheels you no longer wanted or that you had multiples of, or takin’ some of your mother’s brownies and sellin’ them at lunchtime in school. You always found ways to make a little money, even as a little boy. You showed me who you were, Laz, when you were a little, fuckin’ smart mouthed showoff, a survivor, a charismatic guy who loved Black and Hispanic broads… Jesus. I asked you about it one time when you were a teenager. You and I weren’t on the best of terms then, and you basically told me to go fuck myself and refused to answer. I wasn’t comin’ to you in a bad way about it, though. I was just curious was all.
“Nothin’ you’ve ever done or said has surpris
ed me. You both are made of damn good stock. I’m lucky, ya know? I’m fuckin’ proud of both of you.” The man shot them a pointed look, then shoved the papers in Eliza’s lap and placed the pen gently atop the pile of documents. He turned towards Lazarist and leaned forward. “I love the hell out of you. You may not believe that, but I do. I always wanted what was best for you, Laz.”
“Dad, please. Let’s not do this, okay?” Lazarist’s tolerance for the bullshit was extremely low. All he wanted was the papers signed and to be on his way, but Dad wouldn’t allow it. He just kept right on talking.
“I knew you would do great things in life as long as you didn’t get sidetracked, ya know? You used to get sidetracked a lot. You cared too much about what other people thought, too, and that used to upset me about ya. You pretended like you didn’t care, but you did. It would really hurt ya when someone you liked and trusted did something to upset you. You had a problem with women, too. You fell in love at the drop of a fuckin’ dime. It was insane! I knew it was going to be a problem.”
Lazarist lowered his head, prepared for his father to do what he always did—berate him. He reached for his coat to leave, but Dad leaned over and touched his arm.
“Dad, I’m leaving. We’re not doing this, okay? I’m not going to listen to any more of this.”
“Let me finish, all right? This is important.”
Lazarist relaxed a bit, though it was a struggle.
“You got a lotta attention from women, and that made you feel good. I mean, let’s face it. You’re good lookin’. You know all the slick things to say to make people feel comfortable. You’re book smart, arrogant, and that has pros and cons. Shit, I’ve been accused of bein’ arrogant, too,” The old man shrugged. “But Laz, the thing about you that’s so amazing is that you know how to handle your business. Still, you always had to have a little somethin’ goin’ on the side that would mess up your focus… and more times than not, it was a woman. Everybody’s got something that helps them forget the pain, right?”
Dad smiled sadly.
“The problem was me, though. If I had been consistent and got help as soon as I started havin’ problems, I could have helped you navigate that better. Hormones kicked in, and you didn’t have a fighting chance. What had been just an interest became a habit for you—relying on others to feel good about yourself. I could’ve stopped it before it became a problem. You were lookin’ for distractions, Lazarist. Does that make sense or do ya just think I’m talkin’ out my ass, tryna get under your skin? ’Cause I’m not, I promise you that.”
The old man smirked and threw up his hands. After a couple of seconds, Lazarist nodded.
“No. You’re right. I’m not in denial about that.”
“Good. Because as the therapist explained it to me, and yeah, I’ve talked a lot about you two since I’ve been here, it boils down to the fact that you were lookin’ for the relationship your mother and I had when you were a little boy, the one that went up in smoke. You kept tryna find love out here in the world that matches that, but you were going about it the wrong way. You wanted to be praised, doted on and complimented, because deep down—”
“I felt like shit.” Lazarist gritted his teeth as his body heated with rage and sadness.
Dad threw him a curious look, then his expression turned to one of resignation.
“Yeah, you did. But you already had everything you needed right here, inside ya, son!” Dad tapped on his chest. “You were worthy, all right?! It was I who felt like shit! I was a piece of shit to you and your sister, because I… I wanted to save ya both, but I couldn’t! I couldn’t control myself anymore. I couldn’t make money to take care of my family. My brain was doin’ and saying things… stupid, crazy things! I couldn’t even take care of my own wife and kids! How humiliating!”
Tears streamed fast down the old man’s face.
“I saw so much potential in both of you and instead of takin’ responsibility for my part in the way you were goin’, I blamed you. Eliza, you’ve done pretty well despite everything. Laz, you still woulda been girl crazy whether I was in the picture or not… that was just your personality, but you woulda just liked it, ya know? You wouldn’t have needed it, son. When you need something, it weakens ya, stops you from thinking clearly. Makes you do impulsive shit, and impulsive shit always has consequences. Then you cut off your feelings all together. You went from being sensitive and easily offended, to not givin’ a flyin’ shit, or at least you were better at pretending that you didn’t. It scared me, I think it scared a lot of people. You became intimidating and malicious. At times I was afraid of my own son! I didn’t want ya to know, but I was. I didn’t want the good parts of you to die… it wasn’t all bad that you cared so much, but then… you changed. You became cold. You no longer loved women, ya just used ’em. You didn’t wanna get hurt again… I get it. Worst of all, I’m to blame for all of it. I’m sorry… I’m real fuckin’ sorry.”
Dad grabbed his mug, took a final swallow, then suddenly got to his feet. He leaned over and kissed Eliza on the top of the head while she sat there and cried her damn eyes out.
“Not that I deserve it, Laz, but I’d like to come to your wedding. Think about inviting me.”
And with that, he headed down the hall, leaving his two children alone…
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
A Match Made in Heaven
…Two months later
SKY HELD THE dark red, leather-bound photo album with shaky hands. Dressed in her wedding gown, her makeup professionally done, and her hair completely slayed by Scarlet, she stood in her father’s small apartment—just the two of them, with only the sound of his old clock ticking and muted noise from the street below.
Papers lay scattered about in his cramped space, and the scent of cigarette smoke and Joop cologne hung in the air. These were the smells she associated with her father—ones of comfort.
“Your mother and I got married in Central Park. It was free to do so way back then.”
She listened to her father but her thoughts drifted here and there, her wedding jittery nerves distracting her from following any line of thought.
The limousine was downstairs, waiting to take her to meet her soon-to-be new husband at the Brooklyn Winery, which boasted of a bucolic feel, a lush garden, and glass ceiling that allowed plentiful natural light. How she wanted to step foot inside that beautiful venue and officially become Mrs. Zander.
“Go on, open it,” Dad stated as he crushed his cigarette in the small, tin ashtray.
After a deep breath, she did as he requested and uncovered a worn photo of her mother, a beautiful woman with large, dark brown, doe eyes, mouth agape, and a reddish brown curly afro, holding a record.
Sky smiled at the photo. It warmed her heart and filled in one of thousands of missing pieces. Mama looked surprised in the photo, as if she’d be taken off guard. She’d loved music. Dad said she’d wanted that album and he’d surprised her and had bought it for her on her birthday. Funny, her birth date happened to be the day before Lazarist’s…
Sky flipped to the next page and saw another photo of her mother. This time, the woman was in mid-laugh when the photo was taken, and she was sitting on the steps of a brownstone, one leg up, donning a pair of knee-high socks and super short light pink shorts. Her hair was slicked back in a ponytail.
“I’ve never seen this picture of Mom before, either,” she stated quietly. “Why am I just now seeing these, Dad? These are incredible.”
“I didn’t have them until recently. I just got that album about, oh, a few weeks ago.”
“Really? Who gave it to you?”
“Your grandmother called me and told me she’d found it in the storage area of her apartment. She seldom went through any of that old stuff. It was stored amongst some of our wedding things from way back then… I didn’t go get it right away. But then,” he said with a shrug, “I figured you’d want to have it. First though, I needed to finish grieving.”
Dad’s eyes wate
red. He snatched his glasses off and placed them on the table, amongst the envelopes and old magazines. “I never completely got over Veronica, Sky… It was a hard thing, you know?”
She nodded. With a sniff, she turned to another page. One after the other, she looked into the eyes of a woman that she favored so much. She’d seen several photos of her mother, but none like these…
These featured a happy young woman, full of life and exuberance.
“Why doesn’t Mama’s family ever come around, Dad?”
“Same answer as I’ve given you for years, Sky.” He jammed his hands into his suit jacket pockets and shook his head, a blank stare in his eyes. His expression broke her heart. “They’d written her off a long time ago. Luckily, she left many things with my mother instead of her own or I wouldn’t have this to give you, either. Turn to the last page.”
She did and covered her mouth with a shaky hand. There Mama and Dad stood on their wedding day at the reception, looking at each other, so in love…
Mama was dressed in her gorgeous white gown and veil as she danced with Dad. She’d seen only one wedding photo of them together, inside of a box along with mama’s old wedding dress, all folded up and shoved under Dad’s bed. Sky couldn’t get over how they were looking at one another. Their love was almost tangible—two young people, head over heels for one another.
“I want you to know that I asked your mother to marry me twice, before you were conceived. We didn’t get married because she was pregnant, Sky, contrary to anything you may have heard or believed. We got married because we were in love.” Dad tapped his fingers nervously on the table. “She told me no the first two times I proposed. She did so because neither of us had a decent job at the time. I worked, but my income was inconsistent. I took what I could, you know? Your mother worked a couple temp jobs but they didn’t pay much.
